


Faded

by HR_Hext



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comforting, Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29866659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HR_Hext/pseuds/HR_Hext
Summary: War is only truly over when everyone has moved on.A little idea I wrote in 30 mins about the different things haunting the characters of HP.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Rolf Scamander
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Faded

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the rest of my account is mainly fluff. This is uncharted territory for me.

The war is over. Voldemort is defeated. It is all over. That is what they told them. They were going to be alright now. There were no more death eaters, no more horcruxes, no more senseless killing. It was all over, and they were all alright. 

Ginny would sometimes find Harry sitting in their bed, in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. He would be staring at the grey curtains by their window. In the moonlight, they were almost indistinguishable from the veil in the ministry. His gaze would be fixed on the window, and his hand absentmindedly went to rub his scar. It hadn’t hurt in years. It was merely a tick now; something he did when he got nervous. Ginny would look at him and hold him until he fell asleep. That was enough. He wasn’t going to lose anyone else. 

There would always be music playing in the Scamander-Lovegood house. Luna used to adore silences. Silences were times where you got to be alone with your thoughts, where you can listen to the winds and the birds and the sounds of nothing. She used to love to sit there and just enjoy those moments. Now, she made sure that there was always something, always someone talking or some record playing. She couldn’t bear the silence. Silence meant the basement. Silence meant the torture. Silence meant loneliness. And so anytime a record would stop, Rolf would come and flip it. He would make sure that she would never feel that silence ever again. 

Ron would occasionally hear it again. That soft whisper in the back of his head, telling him he should leave, telling him he’s not worth them. Hermione would catch him grasping at his chest. She could see him feeling around his neck, checking to see if there was something there. She would wait for that sigh of relief when he would find there was nothing there, and she would tell him that she truly, deeply loved him. She knew it might never be enough, but it’s all she could do, and that soft smile he would return assured her that they might be alright after all. 

In his early years at Hogwarts, Draco would love to seek out the highest towers and stand on the balcony, feeling the wind blow through his hair. It made him feel big. It made him feel powerful. He hadn’t been up in a tower for years. He even tried to avoid flying now. All that youthful pleasure it gave him had vanished. Any time he looked down over a railing or from his broomstick, he would see him. He would see that old man, falling. That man, admired by almost everyone in the wizarding world. That man that he killed. He could make out the fine details of his crescent shaped glasses and his blue eyes. Every time. 

George dreaded looking in the mirror each morning. It wasn’t his ear. That wound had closed, literally. It was the sight of his own face staring back at him. A face that had stared back at him, talked with him, laughed with him more times that he could count. When it had just happened, he had grown out his hair and beard. Everything to stop having to see him. Now he’d go into autopilot when he would enter a bathroom. He would barely register what he did. Apparently it worked. People stopped asking questions. It was fine.

The doors to the Great Hall opened, as they did every year. Minerva had dreaded this moment. She could recognise the face and recall the name of any student of Hogwarts. It was almost magical in its own right. These last few years, she couldn’t recognise anyone. The new kids streaming in each year offered some condolences, but they didn’t make up for the open spaces at the tables during dinner, or the nearly empty classrooms when she would be teaching the upper years. In the empty benches, she could still see her old students who never got to graduate. Students she taught. Students she loved, each in their own way. Students she saw go to war and fall before her eyes. She could remember the face and name of every single one of them. She couldn’t undo what had happened, but she would try her hardest to make sure the next generation wouldn’t have to endure what their parents and grandparents had to go through. She owed them that.

They all went on with their lives. They all adjusted to a time of peace, one by one, some quicker than others. It was over now. It was done. And they were going to be alright. Eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally had a bit about Hermione too, but that would've included almost explicit mentions of her mudblood scar, and I know that certain people that would read this might no be super comfortable with that, which meant I was not super comfortable writing it in the first place. Anyway, I hope you liked it anyway, by lack of a better word.


End file.
